


Unmasked

by AraniaArt, Kamiki



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Barebacking, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Drug-Induced Sex, Dubious Consent, Fight Sex, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Memory Loss, Power Play, Rough Sex, Sassy Steve Rogers, Sex Pollen, Switching, Violence, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AraniaArt/pseuds/AraniaArt, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamiki/pseuds/Kamiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CANON DIVERGENCE:  After the assassination attempt on Nick Fury in his DC Apartment, Steve Rogers pursues The Winter Soldier into an old, abandoned Hydra safehouse.  In a violent confrontation again the metal-armed super soldier, some old Hydra chemical warfare is unleashed on the unsuspecting men.</p><p>Warning:  dirty, graphic, dubious, drug-induced smut ahead!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unmasked

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This fic was co-written in RP-format, so the POV switches back and forth.

The Asset vaulted over the dizzying gap between buildings without a second guess, his boots striking the concrete of the adjacent building without slowing down.  The mission had been unambiguous, and this was one of the few times it had required two separate attempts to successfully bring down his target.  His handler would not be pleased by the time it had taken him to eliminate Nick Fury.  Already he was pushing the allotted time frame, but now, even worse, he was being pursued.    
  
Instead of taking the leap to the next building, the metal fingers of his left hand caught the ledge of the building and he swung himself down to the fire escape, taking the rickety metal stairs a landing at a time before hitting street level and taking to the maze of alleyways.  
  
Inhumanly fast, he rounded corners, kicking off of walls and hurdling trashcans and derelicts in his path that he hoped would slow and ultimately lose the man who seemed to miraculously be able to keep pace with him.  As was typical, he was supposed to disappear after the target was eliminated.  His pursuer was not a part of his mission, and it would be a breach of the Rules to lead him back to his handler, which was the final leg of his current mission parameters.  But there was a contingency plan; there was always a contingency plan - not that the Asset could recall the specifics of his previous missions, but there were certain things like the Rules that stayed with him between wipes.  Facts as second-nature to the Winter Soldier as how to fire a gun or hand to hand combat techniques.  There was a safe house - an old Hydra warehouse that had been used for development that would contain a cache of weapons more appropriate than a sniper rifle for close quarters combat. It would be discrete and allow him to confront his pursuer without drawing civilian attention.   And best case scenario, he lost him before he made it there, and could lay low for a few hours before seeking out his handler. 

  The bright, clean parts of the city had long since fallen away as the Asset ran tirelessly, taking deceptive routes through abandoned buildings and using parkour to move quickly and hopefully leave his pursuer behind.  

He hadn't heard footsteps behind him for a good several minutes when he rounded the final corner and tapped in the code that he couldn't even remember how he knew into a neglected-looking keypad outside a nondescript metal door.  The Hydra safehouse was in a squalid part of the warehouse district, and everything about the building screamed neglect.  What the Asset wasn't prepared for was that, when he did dash inside and shoulder the door closed, the warehouse really did seem neglected within.  Lights slowly flickered on as he flicked a switch, but there was a staleness in the air.  More than a few secure panels on the walls had been left open, the safes empty, although there were scattered large crates with obscure numbers painted on the sides that lined towering shelving units.    

Slowly, he prowled his way down an aisle, eyes raking over the containers.  If there had been a weapon cache here, it was gone now.  He must have been operating on outdated information.    
  
Just when the Asset was beginning to think he had shaken his pursuer, the sound of a window shattering signaled someone's approach.  He could hear the shield slicing through the air before he even turned his head, and he ducked with superhuman reflexes when he felt the disturbance of the airflow lift the hairs on the back of his neck.  The vibranium shield missed him by mere inches as best, crashing loudly into one of the old crates stacked in the long-abandoned warehouse.  Splintered wood and broken glass fragments spilled over the floor along with packing straw and sticky, slick translucent blue liquid that leaked from a group of broken vials.  
  
Standing several yards away was the same man, his jaw set in anger and disbelief - sweat gleaming off his face and his white shirt glued to his torso.  He charged the asset full on at a dead run - going in for a tackle.   There was no more point in avoidance or evasion.  While this man was not his target, he had proven himself to be a threat to the mission.  He had given him every chance within the parameters of the Rules, but the line had been crossed.  The Asset braced himself, prepared to face the blonde head-on.  He wasn't prepared for the sheer momentum as his pursuer collided into him with the force of a truck, knocking him off of his feet and hard onto his back on the debris-riddled concrete floor.  The two men slid over the floor, knocking over a few more crates as they struggled.  The viscous blue liquid that pooling over the floor had a sweet, almost intoxicating smell, stinging their nostrils and eyes.  The Soldier's muscles tightened, metallic left arm swooping around for a lock around the athletic waist of the broad-shouldered man pinning him.  He simultaneously reached down for his knife with his other hand, flicking it out of the sheath.  
  
Steve Rogers saws the glint of the knife in the dim light, and grabbed his human wrist with both hands, keeping him from stabbing him at close range.  He threw all his effort into banging his knuckles on the hard floor, trying to disarm him, while being held impossibly tight and close to the Asset with his metal arm. The knife was knocked down against the floor, the blade submerged in the growing pool of sticky liquid, but the Asset's grip held fast on the handle.    
  
The Winter Soldier's breath was coming in ragged and angry through his mask, his careful, cold demeanor cracking as he was faced with an opponent of surprising strength and competence.  A hint of fear began to nibble at him as his emotions - and oh yes did he have emotions, he was just forbidden to express them - began to worry free.   His mission was already going poorly, and the looming threat of a Treatment grew palpable the longer this was being drug out.    
  
The blonde was pressing heavily onto his torso, their faces just inches away. The Asset's grey-blue eyes glared furiously into Steve's clear blues, the black greasepaint accentuating the frayed, dangerous bent.  With a grunt of anger, the Asset brought his head up sharply, colliding foreheads, enough to loosen the man's grip on his wrist.  The moment he felt the grip ease, he brought up the knife in a singing swipe, slicing a swath through the blue fabric of the man's jacket, and bit into the skin just under his shoulder.  
  
Steve grunted through gritted teeth as the assassin head butted him.  He felt the man's hands slip out and swipe, and he heard the rip of the fabric of his blue hoodie and a sting where the blade cut flesh.  He rolled quickly away, knowing he needed to get back on his feet before reengaging the man.  Debris got in his eyes and he swiped his hand over his face, frown ticking down on his lips as he felt the blue sticky substance wipe over his face.  He slung what was left on his fingers aside, looking for his shield.  But he didn't have enough time, the assassin was on his feet as fast as he was, and the knife would be coming back.  
  
He didn't wait around; he put his body in a defensive posture, legs spread apart under his and his arms up and ready to block the knife swings  He wasn't worried about his arms getting sliced up - he would heal, but a direct strike to the heart or lung would be more challenging to come back from.  His heart was racing, strong and pounding in his chest.          
  
The Asset didn't hesitate.  Lightning-quick he was already lunging forward with the knife that still dripped with the mysterious blue liquid that also now painted the back of the man's black leather jacket and BDU pants.  The floor was slick, but his footing was sure and the blade whistled as he made a quick slice towards Steve, missing him only by millimeters as the first attack was dodged.  But the first strike was followed by a second and third - one motion flowing into the second as his arms blurred with the speed of his movements.  
  
With expert reflexes, Steve was able to dodge each of the knife swings, trying to calculate his movements.  Finally he struck, blocking the incoming swing with his left arm, gritting through the pain of feeling the knife pierce his skin again.  But it stilled his movements long enough for Steve to bring his knee up quickly, striking against the assassin's extended elbow and simultaneously grabbing his wrist with his right and and jerking it back sharply, wringing the Gerber Mark II out of his hand.  
  
The Winter Soldier didn't allow the flare of pain reach his eyes as the strike nearly hyperextended his arm.  But behind those steely eyes, the assassin was impressed by the capabilities of this opponent.  Never before could he remember fighting someone who could match the fervor and speed of his strikes.  Maybe that's why his heart was racing as he had to work to keep pace with this opponent.  The blade gone from his right hand, he didn't miss a beat as he followed through the movement with a punch from his left aimed at the blonde's jaw.  It would leave him over-extended, but it was a hard enough blow with the cybernetic arm that it would have knocked out most opponents.  
  
Unfortunately for the Asset, incredible reflexes weren't the only similarities this man shared with him.  
  
Steve's head jerked at the impact and he stumbled over a few paces, but he stayed on his feet and kept the knife in his hand.  Rage boiled in him - Nick Fury's blood was literally on his hands, but as much as wanted revenge, Steve would always try to take opponents alive if he could - to face justice.  Knife fighting wasn't his forte, but he knew the basics, and he quickly ducked forward, striking low and landing the blade into the back of his thigh, hoping to disable him from escaping on foot.  
  
A mask-muffled shout of anger and pain escaped the Asset as the blade plunged into his thigh.  It hurt - but the Asset wouldn't let pain slow him down.  He'd continued to fight with cracked ribs or broken limbs in the past.  The wound would heal.  He didn't let the fact that there was a strange tingling in the wound distract him, either.  He kicked out with his injured leg, sweeping at    the legs to try to knock the blonde back onto the ground.    
  
Steve landed hard on his back, failing to get the tendon slice he was hoping for.  The knife slipped form his hand, sliding across the slick floor and disappearing under a heavy pallet.  He cursed under his breath, bringing his knees to his chest in preparation of jumping back up onto his feet.  A nagging worry was chewing at the back of his bed - he was increasingly feeling fuzzy in his head, like a fog hovering on the edge of his consciousness.  Almost like being drunk, he thought... although he hadn't been drunk in over 70 years, despite his best efforts.  
  
The knife was a lost cause, and the wound in the Asset's leg was burning strangely.  He could hear the blood rushing past his ears and it seemed to tingle and run hot as something - he realized with a cold shudder - was in his system.  Enough lingering ghosts of memories of the treatments and administration of various chemicals led the Asset to know when he had been drugged.    Gritting his teeth, he tried to focus his wavering mind on the matter at hand.  He dropped onto his opponent, straddling his chest and metal hand going for his throat.  As he leaned in, Steve could see that his pupils were dilating and a sheen of sweat was beading over his brow.  As his hand began to close, his eyes unfocused for a moment before he shook his head violently and forced himself to concentrate.  A combination of the exposures was starting to build rapidly- that scent in the air, the ache in his leg and tingling in his blood, and now, the oozing of the sticky substance under and through the layers of his tactical gear, where it had covered his back.  He could feel it squishing and dripping down the his back, along the crease of his spine, and and over of his thighs, oozing further into the gradually sealing wound.  
  
Steve's hands reached up and clutched at his metal hand that was clamped over his throat, threatening to close off his airflow.  He was beginning to see spots, but he had no idea if it was coming from lack of oxygen or something else - but either way panic was beginning to set in.  His heart was pounding in his chest - coursing his poisoned blood through his body, and everything was beginning to tingle.  The pounding in his heart was so great that the soldier he was fighting could feel the pressure of the veins in the pressure sensors on his metal arm.    Steve's legs flailed, trying to get leverage to get kick him off, but ended up wrapping tightly around the man's waist as he squirmed, gasping for air.  
  
The Asset could feel the man thrashing under him, his tightly muscled abdomen contracting as he shifted and struggled, and beyond all comprehension a part of the Asset that had been sealed away for decades began to awaken.  He shifted uncomfortably, and not because of the fact that the man's legs were struggling for purchase around his waist... not directly at least, and it was taking all of his concentration to simply keep his hand locked around his throat.    
 He arched his back forward, his other hand came down to the side of Steve's head, bare hand splayed flat against the wet concrete as he leaned forward, chest heaving and eyes going in and out of focus as the grip with the mechanical beast of an arm slackened almost imperceptibly.     
  
The captain took a huge gulp of air when his hand relaxed, but he didn't waste any time.  He squeezed his thighs around the assassin's waist and jerked his body to the side, rolling them over and landing with Steve sitting squarely on top of him.  He landed a hard punch against the side of the man's face from his vantage point - sense beginning to slack in his mind as his brain started to lose its grip on logic and reason.  Instead, the blood pumping through his brain encouraged his baser instincts and he couldn't help but find a smile creeping over his face as he punched the Asset again.  
  
Every time he brought his arm up to prepare for the next punch, his hips rolled back and ground against the other man.    The room felt like it was starting to spin.  The blows to the Asset's face only helped dislodge the tenuous grip he was struggling to hold onto what he was supposed to be doing.  The punches were hard, dizzying, but as the chemical was seeping into his skin, tingling at his palm that was now covered in blue, and coursing through his blood, it felt more exciting than punishing.  And every time those hips rolled, he could feel a building hardness grind against him.   And as the man pulled back for another punch, the Asset moved to catch it with his metal hand, and his own hips ground upwards.  Preemptively, his right hand snagged the blonde's left wrist.    
  
Steve shouted between his teeth when the assassin grabbed his hand, keeping him from landing another punch, but his jaw dropped into a surprised gasp as his hips thrust upwards- grinding into his crotch and rubbing against his rapidly growing erection.  He was left staring down at the man, both hands trapped by a tight grip on his wrists, his breath heaving and his face so close he could feel the other man's breath on his skin even through the mask.  His eyes were dilated, and his mouth continued to hang open as some strange, chemical-induced tension hung palatably in the air between them.  The Winter Soldier was accustomed to following orders without question.  But now it felt like there was a war mounting over just what exactly he was supposed to do.  The conditioning insisted he was supposed to fight, to eliminate the threat.  But a very different charge began to compel him.  His left hand tightened around the blonde's fist, but his right hand began to slide up his forearm, his palm wet, hot and kneading.  Their faces were so close - and the Asset's brow furrowed momentarily - and was there something about him he was supposed to remember?  He wasn't the target of the mission...   His hips bucked again reflexively and his mind reeled as he felt himself grow harder against all reason.  A small moan escaped his lips as his head pressed back against the floor, lashing from side to side, his long hair smearing trails through the pooled substance.    
  
Steve took the assassin's moment of incoherence or indecision to rock back on his heels, crouching and wrenching his hands free from the soldier's grip.  He dug his hands around the straps of his weapon harness and hoisted him up, bringing them nearly nose to nose.  "What the hell was that?" he found himself asking, surprised by how hoarse and breathy his voice sounded.  He sounded more smug than surprised.  
  
The sudden movement and removal of the pressure against his groin was like a splash of cold water.  HIs eyes came into sharp focus, drilling back into the blonde's. For the first time since this mission had begun, the Asset spoke, his voice rough and gravely, "Hell... hell if I know..."  He shook his head again, hesitating for an awkward moment before shoving the blonde back with a whirr of his cybernetic arm.  _The hell was wrong with him?!_  
  
Steve didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't that.  Something about his voice gave him pause, his clear blue eyes scanning over the man - he was big, strong - at least as strong as he was.  Fast, a metal arm - he smelled oddly familiar; sweat and musk and gunpowder, blood and a faint singe of electricity.  "You're sick," Steve found himself saying before he even could stop himself, or realize the hypocrisy.  
  
The Winter Soldier staggered to his feet, feeling almost as out of it as after waking up from cryo.  It was like there was a wire loose in his head.  His vision swam for a moment and his hand reached out to stabilize himself on one of the shelves.  As he stood, the outline of a full erection was evident in the tight-fitting crotch of his BDU pants.   But something about what he said, that judgment and scathing criticism jostled an old, long buried nerve that he didn't even know he had.  "Fuck you!" He snapped, kicking out at him.    
  
"Never on a first date," he snapped back, grinning again as he jumped to his feet. He was thoroughly enjoying this sexually charged battle, though he would be loathe to admit it.  He caught his kick mid-air, wrenching his arms down and trying to knock him off his balance.  
  
The Soldier was already battling a case of vertigo, but his senses sharpened and he focused.  Surprisingly nimbly considering the circumstances, in almost a pirouette, he transferred his weight and delivered a powerful roundhouse kick to his opponent's head with his other foot.  Steve was knocked back by the kick, flailing his arms as he stumbled back.  

  
 With the blonde knocked off of him, the Winter Soldier caught himself gracefully back on his feet.  But as he straightened and shifted his weight, his feet began to slip on the wet floor - and he was unable to prepare himself when Steve caught his balance and barreled towards him again, head down and tackling him with all his weight.     The pair landed hard back onto the floor with an oomph, the Soldier on his back underneath Steve, scrambling and grunting audibly for purchase.  "Get... the _fuck_ off of me!" He spluttered... but there was a growing part of him that really didn't want him off.    
  
The rest of the world was far away - Fury, Sam, Natasha, the Lemurian Star mission... they could have happened five minutes or five years ago.  Nothing existed to Rogers at this moment other than the two of them in this seedy little warehouse.  He suddenly jerked forward, almost as if leaning in for a kiss, their faces inches apart and their eyes boring into each other.  But Steve's hands snaked behind him, wedging itself between the assassin and the floor, his hands searching for something.    
  
Steve gave the man under him a devious grin when he found it, wrapping his hand around the handle of one of his Gerber Yari Tantos he has stashed on his lower back harness and yanked, pulling it out from his sheath and whipping it around to his front, pulling the blade to the skin of his neck.

This situation shouldn't have even given the Asset a pause for consideration.  He should have been able to effortlessly push his opponent off of him, kick up and continue a brutal, relentless assault.  But instead he found himself hesitating, his heart drumming in his chest and his cock twitching as once again it was pressed up against his opponent's torso.  The cold presence of his knife at his throat, slipping in between the bottom edge of his mask and the collar of his jacket sent an electric thrill through him, raising gooseflesh over his neck and arms.    Conflicting instincts battled through the Soldier before he grit his teeth and reached up with his left arm, roughly grabbing the man's short blonde hair and tugging his head back.  He should have reached for the knife.  And knife to his throat, he couldn't have said why he didn't.    
  
Steve grunted as his head was wrenched backwards, but he didn't struggle.  Instead, inexplicably, he slashed the knife suddenly downwards - cutting through a few layers of his jacket before sliding down, carving a long gash though the leather straps that held it closed.  Some of them popped open, others were just damaged, the knife was incredible sharp but the assassin's jacket was made from intensely strong, weathered leather.  Steve struggled to look down, his head being held by his ear, and roared in sudden rage at the blade's ineffectiveness.  He tossed it to the side, both of his hands going to the straps and began to tear at them furiously.       
  
Steve's raw strength was more effective than the blade.  The tight leather straps tore open in the super soldier's hands, revealing a heaving, brutally muscled but hairless chest and abdomen.  The edges of some wicked scaring was visible along the assassin's left side where his jacket was ripped open.    The Asset bucked under him, head lashing and eyes boring up at him in a mix of rage and desire.  He tugged - harder - at his hair once before clenching his fist and forcing the man to stare at him.  "Now who's fucking sick?"  He growled.  
  
Steve's fist yanked down, grabbing the assassin's erection through his pants roughly.  "You seem to be enjoying it," he challenged him, his eyes unable to fully focus as they looked into his.  
  
A protest died in the Asset's throat, coming out as a strangled whimper as he couldn't help but press back into his hands.  Images began to assault his mind of just what he wanted the man to do to him.  No, no he didn't want that - why in the fuck... "Mmngh.... this... isn't ... mission protocol..." He started to murmur, trying to focus himself, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. 

  "What _is_ your mission?" Steve growled, pulling against the grip on his hair, ignoring the pain to lean in and whisper so close to his ear that his lips brushed against the sensitive skin.  "Tell me.  Or are you just some empty weapon who can't even think for himself."  
  
He gasped.  His skin felt hyper-sensitive when lips brushed against his ear; goosebumps once more ran down his neck.  But his eyes came into sharp focus and turned steely when Steve unexpectedly hit another nerve. _"Shut up!"_ he shouted, bringing his right fist around for a tightly hooked punch.    
  
With a thud and a grunt, Steve was knocked off the assassin and rolled onto the floor, feeling his skin flay over his cheekbone.  "Hit a nerve there, Buddy?" he asked, his drug-addled mind making him feel far more euphoric than he ought to given the circumstances.  In any other situation, he would take the assassin down in any way he could: break his legs, choke hold, blunt-force to the head.  At this point, though it was never the most ideal option, lethal force would be necessary.  But this fight wasn't over - he didn't want it to be over.            

  The Asset rolled to a crouch, jacket hanging tattered from his shoulders.  If he was feeling any pain from the repeated blows and stab to his leg, he wasn't showing it.  His arms were held in a defensive position as his mind slogged through the haze to try to get a grip on a strategy.  He couldn't return to his handler with a pursuer.  There was no point in continuing to run.  This man wasn't his mission, but he was a threat to it, and all protocol dictated that he should dispatch of him.  But because of whatever had gotten into his system or this man's unexpected effectiveness or a combination of the two, that was proving surprisingly difficult.   His increased metabolism should have been filtering out the drug by now, but the effects only seemed to be building.  More and more, he didn't _want_ to put him down.  And usually, what he wanted never factored into what he actually did.  It wasn't allowed to.  But in an unpredicted side-effect, even if his desires might be coming from an artificial source, the drug was giving him traction to actually act on them.    He held his position, inspecting the other man, eyes narrowing again as he scrutinized the blonde's handsome features marred with a hint of bruising.  He wasn't his target - couldn't recall him from the mission dossier, but yet there was something oddly familiar about him.    
  
Steve rose to his feet, wiping at the blood on his face, looking down at his hands.  "Why the mask?" he taunted.  "Your mug that ugly?  Or you don't wanna scar your pretty face?"  He put his hands up into a boxing stance before immediately closing back in with a swing of his fists, trying to land a flurry of punches to his head and neck.  
  
The man's reaction speed was just as incredible as his strength as he brought his arms and elbows up, starting on the defensive as he expertly blocked strike after strike.  The back and forth was almost dance like in the way he anticipated his opponent's movements and reacted accordingly.  Every time he used his left arm, Steve's fists collided hard with metal that refused to dent, and made an unsettlingly familiar clanging tone.  He shifted on his feet, circling around him, but had yet to throw a punch back.  Instead, his brows furrowed again at the questions.  No one ever talked to him like this on missions.  He rarely let them get this close, and when they did they sure as hell didn't have time to talk.  "I... I don't know." He spoke, weakly at first before setting his jaw and going to make a counter-strike.  It was just one of the many rules.  He was not to remove the mask unless ordered by a handler or it was otherwise compromising the mission.      
  
"No?  Well what do you know?" Steve asked, his breath coming in short pants as he kept boxing his opponent.  He faked him out, stopping what looked like was gonna be a high strike to dip and sweep his legs, knocking the assassin clean off his feet.  
  
He landed hard on his back, but in a fluid motion kicked out and swept at Steve's legs before he had fully regained his own footing.  "I know you're a determined fucker," He spat, surprised at how loose lipped he was being.  He'd probably strung together more words tonight than he had in a decade.    
  
Steve yelped as he fell, surprised he was so quick to counter-attack.  His tailbone landed hard on the ground and he slid back a bit due to the viscous blue liquid that now smeared over most of the warehouse corridor they were fighting in.  "I can do this all day," he exhaled in a dark chuckle, pausing for just another moment before rolling away and jumping back towards his feet, making a dead run for his shield.   The assassin paused again at the statement, hand frozen midway for reaching back for the last knife tucked in his belt - the twin to the other Gerber Yari tanto.  Another flash of deja vu.  But as the man started running, he shook it, snagged the knife, and threw it with unwavering accuracy into his right leg just as he was about to shift his weight to it.    
  
Steve cried out as the knife lodged into the meat of his calf, just as his foot landed and he fell forward, landing hard on the ground and his teeth knocking together painfully as his chin hit the ground.  The Asset himself followed quickly after the blade, tackling him before he could reach the shield.    
  
The weight of the other man was on Steve, feeling his knee pressing into the small of his back.  His arm shot out, trying to reach the shield but it was at least a foot out of his reach.    
  
The Winter Soldier jerked the knife roughly out of his leg as he seized Steve by the back of the neck with his metal hand, pinning him to the floor face down in the mire.  But then, instead of going for a killing stab, he drew the bade up quickly along his back in one continuous motion, flaying open his clothing from the seat of his jeans to the collar of his jacket and shirt.    
  
Steve felt the sting of the blade as it barely kissed his skin, and the quick coolness of the open air along his back as his clothes cut off.  The sudden exposure caused his skin to pimple up in gooseflesh, and he felt oddly exposed.  His skin was flushed, a warm, red blotchiness spreading from his shoulders down his spine.  "What the hell?"  
  
The knife was tossed aside as the Soldier hungrily ran his right hand up the perfectly sculpted muscles of the man's back before he even really paused to think about what he was doing.  "Fuck, you're gorgeous," tumbled from his mouth in a breathy whisper.    
  
Steve grunted, his face still pressed into the ground.  He tried to struggle against the man, roll over, but his knees were locked on either side of his hips.  "Oh stop, you're gonna make me blush," he said between gritted teeth, bucking his hips back and rising his ass hard against his erection; whether he was trying to get away or taunt the man either further was unclear.  
  
"Too late," came a snarky response as the assassin strafed his eyes over the pinking of his skin all down his back as his hand came back down to give that perfectly round ass a slap.  He kept his left hand securely on the back of his head as he did, breathing in through his nose, eyes fluttering closed for a half a breath as he rolled his own hips forward, needing to feel that intoxicating pressure once more.  He knew there was something wrong with him, knew he'd never do something like this on his own accord.  Even IF the man splayed out in front of him was every kind of perfect.  But right now it didn't seem like it mattered.  Something else was pulling on his strings tonight.    
  
Being called out on it didn't make the flush dissipate any faster, nor did the sharp quick rush of pain and adrenaline when he slapped him..he hadn't quite realized until then that the soldier had sliced right through his underwear as well, letting the palm of his hand make contact with the soft skin of his sculpted ass.  Steve put the palms of his hand on the ground and pushed up as hard as he could, trying to buck the man off him.  
  
The Asset let his back arch up, shifting his weight just enough to straddle him, keeping his metal hand and incredible strength forcing Steve's face to stay where it was against the cold concrete.  However, his right hand slipped around to the front as he gave him the gap he needed to find the frankly impressive erection he had been concealing. He closed his hand around it, squeezing through the fabric.  Leaning forward but keeping his hand around him, he brought his masked mouth close to his ear, the mesh brushing against it, "It's in your system too, isn't it?" he crooned.  "Yer wanting this as badly as I am right now..."  
  
Steve tried to stifle a moan as his fist closed around his clothed erection - an impressive handful.  But his hips betrayed him, jerking towards the pressure like an eager teenager.  His eyes squeezed shut in shame, because he knew the answer.    
  
"Uh huh...  Thought so." The assassin breathed, eyes fluttering.  How long had it been since he had actually felt good?  He couldn't remember... But the reason he had been fighting this new directive was rapidly becoming harder to understand, especially feeling the obvious need of the man beneath him.     He ran his hand back and forth along the frankly colossal cock a few times before gripping the front of his pants and tugging sharply.  With the back already ripped open, it didn't take much to free his hips entirely from the jeans, the fabric shredding off of him.  
  
A  half-embarrassed, a half-needy cry escaped his lips as the pants were ripped off and tossed aside, his aching member scraping against the gritty concrete beneath him.  It was cold, uncomfortable, but still offered the pressure his body was so desperately craving, and before he could even will himself otherwise he rolled his hips, dragging his cock along the floor before his hips came up and ground his bare ass against the erection of the man straddling him.          
  
Only then did the cold, vicelike pressure release from his neck, as he felt the metal hand slide over his smooth back and take its place opposite the other hand on either side of his bare hips.  The grip was tight, but not painfully so as the soldier began to rock his own hips in time with Steve's grinds, moaning audibly and pressing his still-clothed erection against the cleft of his ass.  Each thrust clouded his mind more with more of a need than a desire to take things further.  
  
" _Fuck_ ," Steve heard himself whisper harshly against the ground.  He didn't immediately bolt the moment his metal hand released his neck like he _knew_ he should have, but the feel of the man thrusting his hips into his ass was too damn intoxicating.  The little voices screaming in his head that something was definitely wrong here were being drowned out by a foggy need.  He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, freeing his cock from the chaffing trap between his stomach and the concrete ground, but then his own hand reached down and clamped around it, jerking it roughly to try and provide some relief.      
  
God that was a sight.  The Asset's member gave a twitch that Steve could feel through his pants as he watched him touch himself - taking his own massive cock in his hands.  Hardly thinking about what he was doing, he moved his metal hand off of his hip, dipping his fingers into the viscous blue liquid before bringing his index finger back up and pressing it firmly against the puckered circle of his asshole.  He swallowed stiffly as he began to move the metal digit in small circles, already aching to open him up.    
  
Steve jerked in surprise as he felt the cold metal against his most intimate opening, his breath catching in a sharp intake of breath.  "Don't even think about it," he mumbled out, trying to sound annoyed but it came out sounding more like a beg.  He made no motion to move or get away, his hands still sliding over his dick furiously.  
 The cold finger started to press in, circling slowly, the substance working surprisingly well as slick.  "Think 'bout what?" The assassin goaded, wanting to hear him say it.  He set his jaw, and with his unoccupied hand, grabbed Steve's busy wrist, stilling it.    
  
Steve had to bite his lip to keep from whining audibly when the assassin grabbed his hand.  "Jesus..." he breathed after a moment, his whole brain feeling dizzy and spotty.  "I know what you're doing," he hissed, craning his neck to look over his shoulder.  "And if you think...." whatever he was going to say died in his throat as his puckered muscled relaxed and engulfed the first joint of the cold metal finger, causing him to moan wantonly.  "Oh God..." he tried to free his hand, but the motions of him trying to wrench his hand out his grip only caused him to press back on him further.  
  
The finger slid in smoothly, and after a few small circles inside, stretching and widening him, he began to thrust it slowly in and out.  The friction rapidly began to warm the cold metal.  The Winter Soldier couldn't tear his eyes away from his work as he was growing more and more uncomfortable and impatient.  There was something about the man in supplication before him that appealed to him at such a base level of need.  Resisting the drug was out of the question, it was taking every bit of his willpower to even maintain his patience and not take him immediately before he was ready for it.  He brought his next finger up to join the first, pausing for a moment, and keeping his grip tight on his wrist.  "I need you," He said with more of a whine than he expected.  "But baby doll, I'm gonna make it feel so good..."  He didn't know where his mind was, where those words came from, but they just dripped out of his mouth like second nature.    
  
The cadence of his voice caused Steve to shudder, his whole body seeming to shake under his touch.  His ass was virgin-tight, but the motions of his hips kept pressing back against his hand hungrily, his tongue coming out to lick at his lips as his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and a splotchy red blush fully sweeping over his face.  The other hand that was keeping him on his doggie-style position jerked up, grabbing the assassin behind the neck to keep his torso upright as his weight shifted to his knees solely and pressing his back, now slick with a fine sheen of sweat, flush against the other man's perfectly sculpted chest.  His mouth was right next to his ears now, and he could feel his hot breath against his face as he tangled his fingers roughly in his long hair.  
  
The Asset grunted as his hair was pulled, but it melted into a humm as he worked in a second, and swiftly thereafter a third digit into Steve's hungry hole.  His motions grew faster, the polished metal heating and stretching him wider.  His very human right hand wrapped entirely around Steve's, fingers seeking purchase.    
  
He could hear and feel the assassin's breath coming in whining moans and his robust chest heaving against his back as he pulled their torsos tighter together with his right arm.    
  
"Hnnnnnggg," Steve moaned through his gritted teeth, his hips continuing to grind down against his metal fingers, feeling himself stretching, begging for more.  Finally he let his jaw fall open as he began to pant as his body fell into a bobbing rhythm over his hand and his fingers interlaced with the assassin's right hand.  His knees spread further, giving the man better access to his ass, letting his metal digits slide further into his body.  His cock was aching, nearly purple at the head from lack of stimulation, a steady dribble of precome leaking form the tip.  
  
The Asset spread his fingers once more, withdrawing them slowly and stretching him wide.  He was ready, and he was going to lose it if he had to hold back one moment longer.  There was a large and spreading moist patch on the front of his pants.  His cybernetic hand unoccupied, he grunted throatily as he grabbed and ripped his own pants open, not willing to take the requisite time to deal with his belt and buttons.  Hooking his metal thumb over the band of his skivvies, he made short work of them as well, his own cock finally bobbing free, veins prominent.    He didn't waste ay time scooping up some more of the blue slick off of the floor and began to coat his dick, hissing between his teeth at the sudden stimulation and the way it tingled, making him ache all the more, driving him crazy with lust.    
  
His hands withdrawn from his body, and in a single, ringing moment of temporary clarity, Steve suddenly felt the need to get away, some part of his body realizing what was about to happen.  He lurched forward, wrenching his body from the assassin's grip and falling back onto his hands and knees.  He spun around, chest heaving and cock painfully erect - but the moment his body was free from any contact with the Asset any reason or clarity was gone from his brain just as fast as it arrived.  He reached back out, grabbing the man harshly by the hair and jerking him close.  He stared into his eyes for a moment before slamming his head down towards the concrete and wrapping his elbow around his neck and flipping him onto his belly.  His eyes swept down over his body, immediately focusing on his ass.      
  
"Fuck!" the Asset muffled after the manhandling, his ears still momentarily ringing after faceplanting into the concrete.  He had been too distracted with his own preparation to guard himself against the counterattack.  He struggled, muscles tensing and swearing into the blonde's strong headlock as suddenly he found himself at his mercy.  He had been so fucking close to getting what he needed.  "Lemme go!  Fuck!  I need.... nngrgh... I need it!"  He wailed uncharacteristically.  After the reapplication, it felt like his cock was going to burst if he didn't come soon.  He flailed out wildly with an arm, the 'attack' uncoordinated.  
  
"Ya need it, huh?" Steve taunted, this time taking his example and wiping some of the blue slick from the ground and coating his fingers.  He wasn't as gentle as the assassin, which was extremely surreal in its own right, grabbing his hair and snapping his head up with one hand as his other sought his opening, roughly shoving a finger knuckle deep into his ass with one fluid motion.  "Is this what you need, you sick fuck?"  
 "Gaaah!" The Asset groaned at the sudden intrusion, clenching reflexively at first and scrambling at the burning stretch to his unprepared asshole.  He balled his left hand into a fist, slamming it into the floor, the concrete crumbling underneath it.    "Nnnooo," He growled, body tense.  He had been so close.  So fucking close to taking what he wanted.  He tried to pull away, but the grip on his hair was strong, and the yank caused him to gasp.  Why did that feel so good?    
  
"No?" Steve asked, sounding unconvinced.  He pulled back, just enough to slide a second finger in.  "Tell me to stop then," he almost purred, leaning down to run his tongue quickly over his skin; licking in one long lathe from his tailbone to between his shoulder blades.  
  
The burning started to quickly subside into a tingle, and then the Asset began to ache for more.  "nngh," He whimpered.  It sure as hell didn't sound like a complaint as he found himself starting to want more.  Every time his fingers slid back he felt empty and needed to feel that stretching again.    
 Supporting himself on his left arm, he lifted his ass, pressing back against Steve's fingers so he could reach his begging cock with his right hand.  "oohhhhh, Fuck," he crooned as he finally got his hand around it.    
  
Steve took that as a ringing endorsement, and removed his hand from the Solder's ass to grasp his hips so hard it would cause bruises to form, if only for a few minutes.  "Fuck, huh?"  Steve finally released his hair so he could grab the base of his own cock, positioning it against his loosened opening.    
  
He should have moved.  Taken the same opportunity the blonde had done and gotten the fuck out of there, or at least tried to reassert his dominance.  But by the time Steve withdrew his fingers, the Asset was a mewling mess of need.  "C'mon!" He heard himself beg.  
  
He pressed his hips forward, the throbbing head finally pressing into the assassin's body, stretching around him as Steve let a long groan escape his throat.  " _Fuuuck_."  

"Oooooooooohhhhhfuckyes," The Soldier howled, pressing back against the enormous cock and taking it deeper and deeper, his eyes rolling back in overwhelming sensation.    
  
A few inches in and Steve had to stop, draping himself over the man's back, lathing his tongue over his salty skin.  The tightness was overwhelming, nearly painful around his cock, though as soon as his hips stilled he could feel the muscles loosening around him.  He growled lowly into the assassin's ear as he pulled back a few inches then thrust forward again, sliding in deeper and deeper with each additional push.    
  
It was so big, so fucking big, and the Soldier felt stretched and so impossibly full, and he couldn't get enough.  His body was already stretching to accommodate his girth, and it burned so fucking good.  He didn't know why this felt so right, why his body just seemed to open up and accept him as if he belonged there.    His hips rocked and his body started to fall into a rhythm, taking more and more as his hand began to slick up and down his shaft in time with the thrusts, his thumb swiping over the head every other jerk.    
  
Steve was quickly falling into a rhythm, straightening his back and grabbing his hips with both hands now.  The slick slap of skin against skin began to fill the room as he grew more confident and more desperate for release, his thrusts coming faster and harder.  He was getting so close, the Captain thought he was falling apart, his jaw clenching in concentration and sweat dripping freely from his face.    
  
But for some reason, the thought of the assassin coming first - getting pleasure before he did seemed reprehensible.  He reached forward with a slam of his hips and grabbed him by both of his elbows, hoisting him up and using his own body as a counter-weight as he continued to buck into his body.  
  
The assassin croaked out a furious note of protest as he was pulled up and his hand wrested away from his cock.  He had been deep down the rabbit hole, getting so close.    
  
 And the fucking still felt so mind-blowingly good as he took him all the way to the hilt, but he struggled, wresting his shoulders back and forth as he needed to get a hand back on himself.  "You fuckin' jerk!" He seethed.  But each thrashing movement reverberated down through his body and around Steve's cock, getting him closer.    
  
The sound of the solider's words in his ears pushed him that much closer to the edge as the hot, mind-blowing tightness of his ass.  He opened his mouth to respond, but his words just dissolved into a screaming moan as his began to see spots in his vision.  His orgasm hit him like a bullet, overcoming his body in a way he had never felt; his vision blacked out for a moment as lights exploded behind his eyelids and he screamed as his cock twitched inside the assassin, so hard he could feel it inside.  His balls tightening and he spilled a copious amount of seed into the other's man's body and he could even feel it beginning to leak out onto his thighs before Steve had even quit shuddering against him.    
  
Steve collapsed against his back then rolled off onto the ground, barely clinging to consciousness as his chest heaved, gasping for air as his body still drummed from over stimulation.      
  
The Soldier moved fast, taking advantage of his "opponent's" moment of weakness.  In a flash, he was on his feet, grabbing Steve's bare shoulders tightly and slamming him up against the nearest shelving unit, which was thankfully bolted into the floor.  His feet barely brushed the ground as the Soldier utilized his immense strength to restrain him .  HIs eyes were blazing, and his cock rock hard and pressed against his thigh.  The bruises on his hips had already faded away to almost nothing, virtually a confirmation of Steve's suspicions, and the only clothing that had survived the ordeal so far was his boots, his jacket that had been torn completely open in the front, and his mask.  "Proud of yourself, huh, genius?" He growled with an accent that had been thickening during the encounter, "I'm gonna fuck you numb, Dollface."  
  
Instinctively, Steve wrapped his legs around the man's waist, still reeling from his orgasm and couldn't have struggled much even if he wanted to.  "Had ya on the ropes," he mumbled, the worlds tumbling out of his mouth as though he didn't even know what he was saying.  He rolled his head back to look the Solider in the eyes, his mouth still open and panting, though the corner turned up just enough to nearly challenge him with his stare.  
  
"Yeah, know ya did," He snarked back sarcastically, the response seeming almost conditioned.  He kept his left hand pressed tightly against his shoulder, pinning him against the shelf but he slipped his right hand back down, grabbing his ass, one of his fingers deftly finding his hole.  There was so much blue goo painted over them both that the finger was effectively slicked up when he explored how much he had clenched back up.  
  
His fingers slid in with little resistance from his puckered rim, though the tightness was back as Steve squirmed against his opponent.  Steve's left arm hooked around his neck, holding on tight as his right hand went back to tangle in the brunet's wet, matted hair.  His tongue dipped out to lick his lips, chapped by his desperate panting as he gave an almost imperceivable nod.    
  
"Yeah, you want it, don't ya, Baby doll?" The Soldier drawled as he worked him open faster, bringing his second finger inside him only after a couple thrusts with the first one, scissoring them to stretch him wide.  His hips were already starting to thrust in anticipation.  
  
His answer was a hungry moan as he buried his face in the crook of the assassin's shoulder, tightening his thighs for grip as he began to post up and down his fingers, his muscles in his legs flexing and glinting with sweat in the low light.  
  
He'd waited long enough; the Asset didn't want to risk the bastard trying to bolt on him again.  He jerked his hand out - a little roughly this time, and quickly guided the swollen head of his cock into the loosened ring.  His whole body gave a quiver as he finally squeezed inside and a long, low moan slipped from his lips.  His right hand repositioned on Steve's hip, guiding him lower.  
  
"Fuckyes..." Steve grunted into his neck, though his hips didn't still.  Gritting his teeth against the sudden uncomfortableness of the intrusion, he continued to post up and down, impaling himself on the Asset's pole over and over, hungry to get him down to to the hilt.  
  
"Yes, take it!"  The Soldier's mind was reeling, starting to space and losing himself into the absolute pleasure as the gorgeous blonde took more and more of him with each post.  He didn't even care that he was taking the lead even now as long as he kept that up.  He let go of his grip on his hip - he was doing so good on his own - instead taking his still-erect monster cock in his hand and stroked it along with the bucks of his pelvis.    
  
Steve's first orgasm has taken the edge off the burning need and now he was felt like he was just lost in a fuzzy maze of pleasure.  He was absolutely loving the feel of his asshole being stretched by the mysterious soldier, and the feel of his hand on his cock was just icing on the fucking cake.  Though several minutes into the pounding, after they had found their rhythm again as if they had been screwing each other for years, a realization finally navigated its way through the thick cloud of Steve's mind.  
  
He lolled his head up, eyes locking with the assassin, and the hand that has previously been tangled in his hair lowered, fumbling for the latch of his mask on the back of his neck.  He kept his gaze steady - his clear blue eyes boring into the steel grey ones of the Soldier, and finally felt the buckle go slack under his slick fingers.  He pulled his hand back and palmed the front of his mask, pulling it off.    
  
The Soldier didn't fight him; he barely even registered what he was doing as he chased his orgasm until he felt the 'muzzle' pull away from his face.  The Soldier took a grateful deep breath without the stifling mask, murmuring incoherently.  But that face - it was a sobering slap of clarity for Steve who found himself staring undeniably at a ghost from his past.  The cleft of his chin, the square jaw and bitten-red lips set against those eyes that now seemed so hauntingly familiar. Even with the grease paint, long hair and week's worth of stubble, there was no mistaking the uncanny resemblance.     
  
Everything fell away.  
  
"Bu~" he breath only caught as he was in mid-thrust, "~ucky?"  
  
Suddenly seventy years of SHIELD missions and aliens and ice disappeared like breath on a mirror as Steve Rogers stared into the eyes of his childhood best friend: Bucky Barnes.  A moment frozen in time; he was instantly sober and didn't even register that he was in some damp, dank HYDRA safehouse with the man that just killed Nick Fury in his apartment fucking him senseless against a shelf; he was hanging off a moving train in the blistering cold icy wasteland, watching in horror as the only living person who he ever truly loved fell, his outstretched hand only inches away from Steve's desperate grasp.  
  
But Steve's realization was lost on Bucky as he continued to thrust, half-dazed as he looked blearily back at him, "'th... Who the hell is Bucky?" He grunted.  Suddenly, the mechanical hand tightened hard on his shoulder as his body jerked and he finally crashed past that elusive goalpost.  He spasmed, loosing a triumphant shout as his cock, buried deep into Steve, spewed its hot juice into him.    
  
The combined sound of Bucky's voice in his ears, plus the feeling of his orgasm filling him up, jerked Steve painfully back into the present, causing his second orgasm to crash around him.  He came all over Bucky's fist that continued to wring over his cock, milking him as he screamed and shuddered in an utterly confusing and wonderful swirl of emotions and sensations.  Meanwhile, the Soldier's scream died into a long breathy sigh of relief as his head leaned forward to rest his head against Steve's pecs.  Steve was lost in a daze - the drugs still coursing through his system and his mind reeling from a mix of impossibility tinged with both utter shame and a glimmer of hope.  His body went slack, trying to steady himself as his thighs fell from Bucky's hips.  Was it a dream?  It had to be some kind of a dream, right?  His tired and battered body slid down the shelf, the assassin's cock coming loose from his body with a moist pop, and the captain nearly collapsed like a ragdoll onto the ground.    
  
Bucky staggered back a few paces, his knees shaky after the body-wracking orgasm that felt like it was a release of decades of tension.  And yet, his head still swam and his cock never grew soft as the drugs still raged through him, bolstered by his superhuman stamina.  He caught himself against a shelf with his metal arm, taking in greedy gasps of air.  He disliked wearing the mask, but it had been beaten into him not to remove it himself.  "Damn..." he breathed, a smile working its way onto his face.    
  
Steve leaned against the shelf, his chest heaving as he looked up.  "Bucky..." he breathed, the smile forming on the other man's face setting his heart on fire.  "Bucky, it's me... don't you know me?"  
  
He turned his head to look down at the blonde, long, wet dark hair hanging over his face as his brows furrowed and the smile faded into a confused frown.  He hesitated, eyes raking over him, whetting his lips in concentration.  There was something familiar that felt just out of reach, like a word at the tip of his tongue he couldn't quite form.  "I... I can't remember..." he croaked, eyes darting away uncomfortably.    
  
The sound of Steve's heart breaking was almost palpable.   Was it the drugs?  Was Steve just delusional?  Or was this some sort of clone?  He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that refused to dissipate around the corners of this mind; but the memories of what had just happened threatened to overtake his body again - a hot tingle running from his brain straight to his cock with every passing moment.      
  
The Asset's eyes seemed unfocused as he shifted, straightening and regained his footing.  While he was far from out of the woods, in the recent aftermath of finally achieving an orgasm his mind was getting a brief opportunity to piece together other information.  His body was working hard on dealing with repairing damage from the fight, the chemical, and the strain he had already put into grasping at distant, hazy memories.  And as Bucky's eyes focused on that plaintive face of the handsome blonde, there was a flash of some ancient dream.  A sad smile of a small blonde man with his face.  Gunfire.  The roar of a train and a dizzying fall.    The Asset staggered back a few paces, loosening a shout that ended with a strangled _"No!"_ , hands going to clutch at his head.  His heart hammered in his chest.  He had broken protocol.  He was going to be punished, and badly, for this.  Cold fear fastened its tentacles around the man.    
  
Bucky's strangled cry caused Steve's head to jerk up, concern crossing his face.  "Bucky?  Bucky's what's wrong?"  The blonde tried to struggle to his feet, grabbing the shelf for support as his body wasn't fully recovered and his legs felt like jelly.  
  
_"Stop it!"_ He shouted, falling back a few paces.  He should have taken the chance to incapacitate... to kill him, but some fragment of a previous life had already shut that door.  And as terrified as the Asset was for fucking up this badly, at least he could cling to the fact that this man wasn't his mission.  He felt dizzy, he felt nauseous, and he still felt fucking horny, but overriding everything else was the imperative that he had to get back to base before he was punished worse.  And now was probably his best chance, having come this recently and with St... his pursuer in probably no shape to follow him.  In a flash, the assassin turned and ran, not seeming to care that almost all of his clothes were in tatters strewn about the warehouse floor or that most of skin was painted blue with the chemical.  In seconds, he had disappeared, moving faster and more silently than he had any right to out of the warehouse and into the night.  
  
"No!"  Steve tried to bolt after him, but between the slick floor, his body protesting, and this hazy mind, by the time the supersoldier followed the man into the alley, he was gone and he had no idea where to even start.    And he was naked.    
  
He staggered back into the warehouse and put his back against the door, sliding down the wall and burying his face in his hands.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> Amazing art of this story by Snowzapped! Check out his Tumblr here: http://snowzapped.tumblr.com/
> 
>  


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